Memories
by dreams of infinities
Summary: Ten minutes. Natasha is plagued by memories of what used to be, and in the ten minutes before the alarm clock goes of, she tries to rid herself of them. Will she ever be able to let go? (Oneshot)


_Ten minutes._

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Ten minutes to pull your act together, Natasha. Come on.

The safe house in the woods was built for utility and not comfort, and so they were sharing a bedroom (though not a bed, for which she was thankful). If she tilted her head sideways she could see him. He was sleeping.

_Ballet. Fighting. No end…a procedure. They were going to-_

She stopped herself. She was with SHIELD. She was safe. The ways of the Red Room had no effect on her, none at all; at least not now. Not any more. Now she was free of them.

Voices in her ear… _You will never be free of the Red Room._

Please, she thought, shut up. Please.

She was _Agent_ Romanoff. Agent Romanoff of _SHIELD_. Whatever they had done to her, she was free of them now. Wasn't she?

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_Nine minutes._

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She glanced at the clock. Nine minutes until Clint woke up.

Breathe.

One shaky breath in. One trembling exhale.

She thought of all the good she had done. Then she thought of all the bad; she thought of all the innocents she had killed – who by far now outnumbered the guilty – and of all the intelligence she had gathered for those who were now her enemy.

Come on, Natasha.

Nightmares were a simple thing. They hurt. Then, with time, they got better. In fact, most people forgot about them completely after a while.

Not for Natasha, however. The same nightmares came back to her, every night, and it took all of her strength not to wake up screaming, not to cry out for help. Because undoubtedly she needed help, and she wasn't sure how they would give it to her.

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_Eight and a half minutes._

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The small alarm clock ticked on. She wondered why she didn't just stay awake each night. It was getting harder to bear, now…

The anniversary. Of her escape? No. It wasn't an escape, or a heroic rescue. It was a run. A cowardly run from the only people who understood who – what – she was-

A cowardly run from the people who had brainwashed her into thinking that they were friends. She was weak, undeserving of Clint's friendship and Fury's trust and everyone else's fear. She was broken.

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_Eight minutes._

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Yes, that was it. Broken.

The Red Room had taken her and broken her and snapped her in half, and then built a monster from the pieces left behind.

She thought of young Natalia, who had run from the burning building straight into the Red Room's arms, and become _her_.

A wave of disgust rippled through her. What was she? A cold-blooded assassin. A killer – a murderer. Natasha Romanoff. Natalie Rushman. Natalia Romanova. Black Widow.

She was a seductress, a spy. She hid in the shadows and brought strange secrets to light; secrets that, perhaps, were better off secret. She messed with men and meddled with minds.

She looked at the small, neat row of scars on her left forearm.

Who was responsible for them? The Red Room, or herself?

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_Seven minutes._

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They had handed her the blade. They told her that if she was to make it to the top, there would be pain. Pain and sacrifice.

She was young and brave (she thought at the time) and eager to prove herself. _How many?_ she had asked. They smiled. _As many as you can._

She had cut into herself eleven times before she fainted. She was counting.

So were they.

_Impressive_, they had told her as she picked herself up from the floor. _Some people can't even do the second._

She had flushed with pride, Natasha remembered. She shuddered in revulsion. What has they turned her into?

Everything started spinning, and she lay back down, suddenly nauseous.

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_Six minutes._

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There. On the table. A gun.

_It is better to die than betray your secrets._

She shook her head, trying to get their words out of her ears, but the whispers followed her everywhere now.

A tear slipped down her cheek. _Black Widow does not cry._

She lifted the pistol of the table.

_SHIELD? They are our enemies, and they are yours to. If they capture you, and you cannot escape, put a bullet through your own brain at the first chance you get._

She rested the barrel of the gun against her temple. Hell, she wasn't suicidal. She was just following orders.

But whose orders did she follow?

She was no longer part of the Red Room. They had turned her into a machine; they had turned her into a weapon. But, she realised, SHIELD was doing the same thing.

Only for the _right_ cause.

She opened her mouth to call to Clint, but no sound came out.

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_Five minutes._

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Natasha dropped the gun. It hit the bedsheets with a slight rustle.

_If you can make it out, kill as many of them as you can._

She picked it up again and pointed it at the man sleeping opposite her.

Her finger hugged the trigger.

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_Four and a half minutes._

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Stop! Stop it! What the hell are you doing, Natasha?

_Sometimes, people must be sacrificed. Sometimes innocents. Sometimes allies. Sometimes friends._

Don't feel. Don't let emotions pull you down. Everything is nothing. Everybody is nobody. _Except you._

He was peaceful. She could end it right here. No more strange feelings, no more loyalty to others. No more debts.

She would never take her own life, but she had spent many years perfecting the art of taking others'. Now, she didn't even have to close her eyes, but she did it anyway.

Her finger squeezed just a little tighter-

She dropped the weapon. What was she doing? She didn't have to listen to their advice any more. She was no longer theirs, she told herself.

She was good at lying.

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_Four minutes._

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Carefully she lowered the gun and placed it on the bare wooden floor. It hardly made a sound, and neither did her feet as she stood up. She opened the door and crept out into the forest.

Once she had navigated her way outside, Natasha broke into a run. She had four minutes to create an appearance that would make Clint think she was OK.

She could only have been running for about forty-five seconds, but her breathing was ragged and her legs were screaming. Dizzily she stumbled back towards the house.

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_Two minutes, twenty-five seconds._

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She checked her clothing: it was pretty much clean from the mud she had run through.

She lay down.

She caught her breath.

_The secret is in control. Steady your breathing. Listen to your heartbeat throbbing away and imagine it slowing._

She closed her eyes, wildly exhilarated and yet still fairly terrified.

I shouldn't be left alone, she thought. I'm dangerous. I hurt people.

She was scared.

_She who was never afraid._

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_Two minutes._

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He would wake up in two minutes. She would be OK. She would have survived another night. Just to be safe, she checked the alarm was set for six. It was.

"_I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it._"That was what Nelson Mandela once said. She thought it was probably true.

She wasn't a brave woman; the fear stalked her day and night.

Would they one day find her?

Would they kill her? Punish her? Brainwash her again?

She didn't want them in her head, but there were many things easier than freedom.

Had they ever truly left?

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_One minute._

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Sixty seconds. That was all. She could survive sixty seconds.

She picked the gun back up and put it back on the table, exactly in the position it had been before.

She lay in what she hoped looked like a comfortable sleeping position.

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_Forty-five._

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She lay still, and could hear his soft breathing.

Sorry, Clint, she thought.

If she focused-

_Focus is the key to everything._

She clamped hands over her ears, before remembering what she was doing and settling back into her original position.

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_Thirty._

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_Relax. Hold yourself steady. Keep each breath slow and even._

She didn't need their advice. She was her own person, not theirs. She could do this. She had to do this.

For him.

For her.

She started to count down.

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_Fifteen._

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Through the slightly open window she could see the stars, glowing in the clear, dark sky.

_Jewels on black velvet._

She closed her eyes to shut out the memory, but only trapped it inside.

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_Ten._

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Her feet were bleeding. She didn't realise she had run barefoot.

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_Nine._

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_Eight._

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A very slight breeze ruffled her hair. _The breath of midnight. Black Widow._

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_Five._

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She would be fine. She was _alive_, and she intended to stay that way.

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_Four._

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She could make it through this.

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_Three._

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She was Black Widow. The survivor, the fighter, the warrior.

The _broken_.

She choked back a sob.

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_Two._

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Broken.

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_One._


End file.
